


Marvel-lous Oneshots!

by PhoenixSolo



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Choking, F/M, Light BDSM, Office Sex, Oral—male receiving, Over the desk!, Praise Kink, Restraints, Rough Sex, Slight Dom/Sub, Tags and rating will change at some point, dub con, oh god where to start, only if you blink, thigh riding, wrap it before you tap it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 11:50:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16085531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixSolo/pseuds/PhoenixSolo
Summary: Marvel themed drabbles and one shots I couldn’t fit into stories. There will probably be porn at some point.





	1. Take Me Out To The Ballgame

“Rogers, did you just say ‘Brooklyn Dodgers’?!”

I looked at him incredulously. Steve Rogers just shrugged. “That’s the last time I—“ 

“You’ve been catching up on literally everything else but you don’t know that the Dodgers moved to LA in 1957??” 

Steve threw up his hands in defeat. “To be fair, I’ve had other priorities—“ 

“Baseball is LIFE, Cap! Have you even been to a modern game since you thawed?” I stood with my hands on my hips, all of five foot two in three inch heels, staring up into the face of Captain America and his six foot four glory. 

“No—“ 

“You, me, baseball, tomorrow night. I have a four pack; we need two more.” 

A dark mocha head peeked in. “Baseball? Oh I’m in,” Sam crowed, smiling. “Who’s playing?” 

“The Yankees and the Cubs—“ I said. “I’m just hoping the Cubs don’t blow it—“

“Again—“ Steve mumbled under his breath. 

“—and Steven Grant Rogers, I will fuck you up if you insult my Cubbies again. Game starts at seven oh five tomorrow but we need to get there early.” 

“I’m sure we can find a fourth person by then,” Sam smirked at Steve. 

THE NEXT NIGHT

The entire damn day, I wondered who the fourth guy in our little group was going to be.

After meeting the guys at Yankee Stadium, I swore up and down to myself that this was a goddamn set up. 

Because at the entrance was not only Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers, but James Buchanan Barnes. 

On whom I had a slight crush. 

Okay, okay, _slight_ was the understatement of the century. I’d been mesmerized by him the first time I’d seen him. I thought he was the most beautiful man in existence. 

The whole “tortured soul” thing wasn’t helping. The side of me that my mother always told me was trouble screamed at me to smile, wave, something, anything at Barnes but my brain just froze. “Uh…” 

“Hey…” Barnes waved, adorably bashful. 

“I didn’t know you liked baseball or I’d have asked you sooner!” I said, like a complete jackass. 

“Me? Oh I love baseball—“

“Who’s your team? And I swear if you say the Brooklyn Dodgers, I will kick you—“ 

Barnes held up his hands in submission. “I plead the fifth—“ 

With Sam laughing in the background, I put my head in my hands, then turned to him. “ _Look,_ Mr. Nationals Fan—“ 

“Do they still have hot dogs?!” Bucky interrupted, sniffing the air. “I smell hot dogs.”

“Okay, baseball may have changed but not that much, Barnes.” My dumb ass grabbed his hand and pulled him into the line for checking bags. I didn’t even realize it until he stumbled next to me and spoke softly.

“Bucky.” 

“Hm?” I dropped his _(soft)_ hand, mortified beyond belief. 

“Anyone who grabs my hand like that gets to call me Bucky,” he said, voice still soft. Poor man looked as mortified as I felt. 

The bored security guard checked my bag, which contained baseball gloves (and some candy bars hidden in the gloves but nobody needed to know that) and ushered us through, giving me the stink eye for my Zobrist shirt. 

We found our seats on third base (behind the Cubs’ dugout!) and I distributed gloves. “These were all I had in my closet. They’re from my high school baseball days. And I’d better not hear a damn thing about the seats, I had to do humiliating things to get them!”

Sam made the mistake of snorting and I glared at him. “Not those kinds of things, you perv!” I put on a pained face for show. “No no no, I had to ask Stark for a ride to the stadium and walk in and buy them.” 

“Oh what a shame, pity and travesty,” Sam goaded. 

I glanced at Steve and Bucky helplessly. “Can I punch him? Imma punch him—“ Man, the game hadn’t even started yet and I was catching hell. 

And not just from the three stooges. The surrounding sections were giving me the evil eye and I heard several unsavory jeers. 

“I—imma got get hot dogs—“ Steve stood up from his seat and slid out of the aisle. “Come with me?”

“Gladly, just get me away from the peanut gallery—“ I stood and followed him. 

“You’re at a ball game, doll, the whole place is a peanut gallery,” Steve snorted, motioning to the section behind your seats. A good half of them were wearing face paint and oversized foam fingers. We walked up the aisle and those closest glared at my shirt. 

One guy in particular, decked out in a Yankees jersey and face paint and probably about two beers in _(and before the national anthem!)_ stood up and jabbed a finger at me. “Go home, Chicago! This is our turf!” 

“Easy, buddy, I’m just here for the game—“ 

Steve put his arm around me and I froze. “Problem, pal?” 

When Captain America is staring at you the way he was staring at that guy, you know you done fucked up. The guy backed off, hands up in supplication. Steve “guided” me to the concession stand, then removed his arm from my shoulders. 

“He likes you, you know.” 

I started. “That Yankees twit?!” Several heads turned towards me and I hid my face. 

Steve chuckled. “No, not him.”

“Who, then?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized who Steve was talking about. 

“He didn’t want to come but I told him you were coming and he changed his mind.” 

“That doesn’t mean that someone likes someone, it just means—“ 

“He brightens up when you walk into the room.” 

I blushed. “Okay—“ 

“He won’t shut. UP. About whatever funny thing or smart thing you did.” 

The blush deepened. “He’s…” 

“A little broken but he’s healing. You know why?” We reached the front of the line and placed the order. Despite me already having my wallet out, Steve pulled out his and paid. “He wants a chance.” 

“With me? Or normalcy?” 

“Both.” Steve put the drinks in a drink carrier while I gathered up the hot dogs, shoving condiment packets into my pockets. “Do you remember when you first started with Stark Industries?” 

I nodded. “Stark flirted with me the whole day.” 

“That’s Tony. If it’s got a pulse and—“ Steve motioned with his arms across his chest in an approximation of breasts. “—he’s interested.”

I snorted because really, where was the lie?

“When Bucky saw you, he asked me if an angel had descended from the heavens and graced us mere mortals with her presence.” 

“He did _NOT!_ ” I giggled, nearly dropping the ‘dogs. 

“Okay no he didn’t—“ Steve laughed. “—but he asked me if I thought he had a chance with someone like you.” 

That damn blush returned. “And what did you say?” 

“I said everyone has a chance to be happy; it’s just knowing when to say something, when to do something.” Steve stopped us right before the aisle to go to our seats. “Say something to him. It’ll make his day.” 

We got to our seats and I discovered that Sam had switched seats, putting Bucky next to me and sandwiching both of us between Sam and Steve. 

Bucky looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. I handed him his hotdog as shyly as I could without dropping it. “I...I wasn’t sure if you liked condiments so I just grabbed a bunch of packets.” 

“I’m good with ketchup.” Bucky didn’t look directly at me and I swear that ketchup isn’t as red as that poor man was right now. 

“We got Cokes for everyone…” I turned to Steve and gave him a murderous stare as he gave me the Coke. 

“Thank you.” He accepted the drink with a small smile that set my stomach turning. 

We stood for the National Anthem, Steve drawing a roar of support as he took off his hat and placed it over his chest. Bucky and Sam did the same but didn’t generate the noise that Steve did. 

I went to sit back down and I felt a nudge on my side—where Steve was. I stumbled into Bucky, who put his arms around me. 

And I made a mental note to find Steve’s worst fear and make sure it was planted in his room. 

But after the lightning storm of invisible sparks between me and Bucky died. 

Oh yeah. There was definitely something there on his end. We disengaged with Bucky apologizing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“ 

“You’re okay, I think someone nudged me from behind,” I said, glaring over my shoulder at Steve, who looked the other way, whistling nonchalantly.

The first three innings were fairly boring; they usually are. 

The top of the fourth, Javier Baez knocked one into center field, putting the Cubs ahead; the Yankees answered with three of their own in the bottom. 

It remained scoreless for the next couple of innings. Yankees up 3 to 1.

During the seventh inning stretch, I ducked out to the women’s room. Waiting in line was a bitch but it usually is; Sam caught me waiting still. 

“Hell of a game, huh?” He shoved his hand into his pockets. 

“Yeah.” 

“Soooo Bucky wants to know if you want to get a beer with us after the game—“ 

I smiled. “Sure!” We reached the women’s bathroom and Sam let me go. 

I came back to our seats just as Zobrist was up to bat. Full count, one out that I missed because I was in the bathroom. 

“You enjoying the game so far?” Bucky’s voice made me jump and I turned to him.

“Yeah, I’ve loved baseball since I was a kid.” 

“Me too—DUCK!” 

I missed the crack of the bat and Bucky pushed me down into his lap holy shit. I heard a clang and some kind of mini explosion, then cheering. I sat up and Bucky stared at me with a chagrined look on his face. 

In his hands was the tattered remains of Zobrist’s foul ball. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shove you down there—“ 

The stadium was alive with the whistles and claps of approval. Bucky shrank back into his seat. 

The play stopped for a few minutes to let the noise die down. Bucky excused himself and left the seat in a hurry. I stood up, following him, glaring at Sam for his snickering. 

I found him in the stairwell, head in his hands, muttering to himself. “—stupid—“ 

“You okay?” 

Bucky jumped. “Uh—hey—“ 

“You took off in a hurry, just checking on you.” I put my hands in my pockets. 

“I’m good, I’m…” 

“Okay. I’m gonna get a drink if you want to come.” The words were out of my mouth before I realized it. Bucky perked up. 

“Sure—Yeah.” 

As we came out of the stairwell, something small knocked into me. A boy about eleven stared up at me with wide brown eyes. I couldn’t tell if he was blushing because of his skin tone but he stared at Bucky in awe. Bucky squirmed and started to back up. 

“Dude—you saved that lady from the foul!” Another kid—I guess the one who had been chasing the kid that crashed into me. “You made the ball explode!” 

Bucky cringed, looking for an exit. 

Crasher spoke up. “That was the _coolest thing I’ve ever seen!!_ ” 

And before we knew it, another four or five kids swarmed us, clamoring for Bucky’s attention. I was left out of the swarm as they all grouped around Bucky. “How did you do that??” “Wow, that was awesome!” “Can you show me?!”

Bucky glanced helplessly at me. I mouthed something about eating vegetables and getting a good night’s sleep. “Uh—well—I eat all my vegetables—“

One kid made a face. “Even broccoli?!” 

Bucky snorted. “Even broccoli. I also get a good night’s sleep—“ 

I giggled. This was probably the most adorable thing I had seen all day. 

The kids left after Bucky made an excuse about needing to use the bathroom. For show, he ducked into the restroom and came out with a smile on his face. 

“You okay now?” 

“Yeah, I’m just not used to…” He trailed off. 

“Being idolized?” I smirked. “You made those kids’ day. That was sweet.” 

“You still want that beer?” 

“Sure.” 

We never did meet Sam and Steve after the game and I don’t remember the score—which was odd, because I never forget a Cubs game—but I feel like we both hit a grand slam.


	2. Workin’ 9-5...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader and CEO!Clint Barton do the deed in his office.

You’d been in this job for years and you’d never seen your boss’s face. His name was Clint Barton and he was a man of visual mystery, known for his intense dislike of socialization and love of archery.

Hell, the company logo had a bow and arrow motif.

Today, was a different case, however: Big Boss Barton elected to come out of his cave for whatever reason. He was accompanied by Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, his security detail. 

And your lady bits clenched. 

He was handsome in a brutish sort of way but he moved with all the predatory grace of a tiger on the prowl. His eyes were a glacial blue and you felt your core seize when he turned them to you. 

As he did, he stopped and turned towards you, like he wanted to say something to you, but something stopped him.

Maybe it was Steve whispering something in his ear or maybe it was something else, but he turned his body away from you, keeping his eyes on you until the last possible second.

And then he was gone to whatever meeting or boss thing he had to do. 

Immediately, you went to your keyboard and pulled Wanda and Natasha into group email. 

You typed out: “Omgggg did you see him?!?”

Natasha’s response was instant: “yesssss girl omg he’s amazing”

Wanda replied a few minutes later. “Sry was in the groove with work. Is he really hot??” 

You: “oh you have no idea.” 

Natasha: “I saw the way he stared at you, Y/N!”

Your insides twitched as you remembered but you typed out: “no way would I have any type of shot with a man like that!” 

Natasha replied: “you never know!” 

Wanda, ever the killjoy, sent back: “ok let’s get back to work before he catches us!” 

You stood in the break room, silently cursing the shitty coffee that the machine was currently putting out. Wanda and Natasha were back to work already but you desperately needed the coffee, no matter how bad it was. 

As you came back to your desk, you noticed Barton at the door to his office. He was talking to Sam about something, his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled loosely, with the ghost of a tattoo peeking out from under the cuff. He looked up just as you walked by. 

And you almost stopped in your tracks. 

He was most definitely staring at you with those intense blue eyes. You blushed and hurried past to your cubicle, ducking away to get back to work. 

The second you sat down, you opened your email to see one from Natasha about Barton. 

Over the next few days, you and Nat would exchange emails about Barton’s appearance. She’d be the one to send the comment and you knew you shouldn’t reply but you did anyways. 

“Man, he looks like he likes it rough!” You sent back: “he could tie me up and do whatever he wanted to me, damn!” 

“Jeez the way he looks at you, you’d think he wants to worship you on his knees!” You replied: “I wish he would—those lips are made for kissing EVERYWHERE!” 

“Wow and that chest! It was made for dragging your nails down!” You responded: “mmhmm, I wanna take my tongue to every part of it.” 

“Holy shit, those THIGHS. You could probably ride them for days!” The thought had crossed your mind. Multiple times, in fact and you sent back: “like a cowgirl, baby”. 

“He walks like he has BDE!” Big dick energy, indeed. You sent back: “I’d gag myself on his dick for sure!” 

“You should totally come onto him, he’s into you!” You froze, wishing that you actually do so. Your position with this company was too important to you. 

You were in the middle of typing back exactly that when another email from her came through. 

The last one was gushing about his arms. You sent back: “god yes I just want him to plow me from behind and choke me then cum on my ass!” 

You reached for your coffee cup as you hit Send. Your hand slipped and suddenly Barton was CC’d to that email. You said “shit” quietly and moved to take his name off. 

And watched in horror as your cup fell on the mouse, sending the email to Natasha AND BARTON. 

Oh fuck. 

Outwardly calm, but inwardly panicking, you opened up another email to Natasha and sent out: “FML”. 

Natasha: “I SAW THE RECIPIENTS OMG YOUR LIFE IS OVER”

“I’m gonna die, omg I’m gonna pack my shit and move to Antarctica or something!” 

And that’s when you got the notification from Clint Barton: “See me in my office”. 

You sent a screenshot to Nat, along with “RIP me, I’m so fired” 

“I’ll call you after I get home” came Nat’s resigned reply.

On shaking legs, you walked to Barton’s office. You smoothed your skirt and straightened your hair, then knocked on the door with an unsteady hand. 

“Come in.” If you were scared shitless, that deep voice would have sent shivers down your body. You entered the room and closed the door.

“Miss Y/L/N, how nice to finally meet you.” Barton sat at a mahogany desk that was empty except for a sheet of paper. He tapped it. “We have something to discuss. Have a seat.” He motioned to one of two chairs in front of the desk. 

You swallowed audibly and took a seat in front of him, blushing fiercely and refusing to meet his gaze. 

“Now, then… you’re aware that the company email is not for personal use, right?” 

You nodded, trying not to cry out of embarrassment. “Yes, sir—“ 

“I didn’t give you permission to speak.” His voice was low and dangerous sounding and you flinched to cover up rubbing your thighs together. The ache from your loins was confounding enough but now you were in trouble. Potentially serious trouble, with a sexual harassment peg in your file.

Barton stood up and picked up the paper, then shoved his unused hand in his pocket. He strode slowly and casually around the room as he read. “So you and Miss Romanoff have been exchanging these emails for several days now.” 

Your eyes widened for fear of your friends’’ futures. “Please—please don’t fire her—“ 

“Oh I’m not going to fire anybody; she’ll get a talking to and nothing more will be said,” Barton called from the other side of his office. He clicked the lock closed and sauntered back to the desk. 

You were mentally checking off excuses for your emails when he came to a stop in front of you.

He was so close that you could literally see the lining of his dick through the groin of his pants.

He was BIG. He was also apparently semi hard. 

“Do you mean those things you said in those messages?” 

The question caught you off guard. “Huh…?” 

Barton scanned the paper. “Do you really want to—ahem— ‘gag yourself on my dick’?” 

“Uh…” You were speechless. Then, like a jackass, you answered honestly: “...yes?” 

“Here’s your chance, then.” Barton loosened his tie and pulled it off like he was home from work, then casually unbuttoned his shirt about halfway.

“Excuse me?” 

“Would you rather not? You have the option to say no.” 

“Would I face any type of consequences either way?” 

Barton leaned down to look you in the face, giving you a healthy eyeful of his broad, finely haired chest. “Nope. If you say no, you walk out of here free. I’m not threatening your job and I won’t fire you and your friends. Nothing more will be said but I WILL caution you to refrain from using company email to...uh…’discuss’ mine or anyone else’s non company related attributes in the future. That’s it.”

Knowing your job and that of your friend were safe, you let out a little sigh of relief. Emboldened by that promise, you asked: “And if I say yes?” 

Barton leaned further in so his nose was about half an inch from yours and grabbed your wrists, pinning them lightly to the arms of the chair. “Then I do everything you want me to do to you. Everything and then some.” 

With a little moan, you leaned forward and captured his mouth with your own. He pulled you up by your wrists and whirled you both around so he was in front of the chair. 

“How do you want it?” He asked you, breaking the kiss. 

“Rough,” you whispered into his ear. 

He sat in the chair and pulled you down on top of him. “Good, because I’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk outta here.” He whipped his tie off of his collar with one hand and grabbed your wrists together with the other. “Tell me if I do something you don’t like.” 

“O-Okay.” You gasped as he bound your wrists together and slowly helped you to the floor in a kneeling position in front of him, then ripped open your shirt, revealing your black bra. You made a noise of protest. 

“I have an extra one,” he said as he undid his belt buckle and dropped his pants. 

He was COMMANDO. You felt a rush of heat at his cock sprang free of its confines, now completely hardened. He was easily about ten inches, probably as big around as a half dollar. Before you could question the physics of how you were going to fit it in your mouth, he offered you the tip. 

You swiped your tongue lightly over it, making and keeping eye contact as you slowly pulled it into your mouth. 

Barton groaned. “...god yes, baby—I’ve been wanting you since I first saw you—“ 

You let him slide about halfway into your mouth before you swallowed. He hissed and thrust in harder. He hit the back of your throat and you gagged; he pulled out immediately. “Fuck, baby—“ 

You took this opportunity to run your tongue up the underside of his shaft and take only the tip into your mouth. Barton’s eyes rolled and his head fell back. He thrust into your mouth, slowly at first, then picking up speed. Not completely in but enough that you could feel your mouth stretch around him. 

If your hands hadn’t been tied, you’d have played with his balls. As it was, he gripped the side of your head to hold you in place and he fucked into your mouth. 

He pulled you off suddenly. “—don’t want to cum yet—“ He helped you to your feet, then pull you onto his lap. “I want you to get off on my thigh.” 

Barton gripped your hips and settled you onto his thigh; you could feel his hardness against your leg. “You’re gonna...What was it now? Ride my thigh til you cum?” 

You let out a whine as he gently pulled your hips towards him—the motion sent shocks of pleasure up and down your body. 

“That’s my girl,” Barton growled. “Come on, baby doll, you can do it.” 

You moaned as your body instinctively began to work itself against Barton’s thighs. It was hard to do with your arms tied behind your back but Barton’s hands on your hips steadied you and prevented you from falling. 

Barton’s breath hitched as your own thigh brushed against his hard dick. “You gonna cum, baby?” 

As if on cue, your climax began to build. “...I-I’m close—“ 

Barton grinned a mischievous one and—lifted you off of his leg. “Uh uh, not yet.” He lifted you onto the desk and pushed you back to lay on it; your bound arms angling your hips up. He shoved your shirt aside and pulled down one bra cup to let loose a breast, attacking your nipple with his mouth as it popped free. You let out a gasp as he twirled it with his tongue, rubbing his other hand down your side and under your skirt. You moved to take it off but it he stopped your hands. “Leave it—gonna fuck you in it.”

He shifted your shirt aside more so he could trace his tongue down your torso, fondling your breast. His hand drifted under your skirt and you drew in a breath as he stroked your clothed opening. 

“Mmm, already wet for me?” You shuddered as he slid the crotch of the garment aside. “God you ARE—“ He then RIPPED the offending garment from you and slid a thick finger into your dripping opening. Instinctively, you pushed down onto him. “That’s it, baby, that’s right—“ 

You whined as Barton continued to finger fuck you; after a few moments of him sliding in and out, combined with his other hand stroking every part of you it could, you felt your climax gather. “I’m getting close—“ 

“Oh no, you don’t.” Clint removed his hand, then covered you with himself, kissing you and grinding his groin into you. You let out a needy noise and arched your back, sending your body into his. He broke the kiss. “You want my cock, don’t you?”

“I need it—“ You moaned.

“You gotta be a good girl and wait for it.” 

Another whine from you elicited a grin across his face and Clint sat up. He sank to his knees between your legs and you propped yourself up on your elbows. He gave you a mischievous grin and dove in, attacking your clit with tongue and teeth. He poked his tongue into you, brushing it up against that spot. The one that you found on your own as a teen. 

You fell back into the desk and cried out. 

“That’s it, baby doll, cum for me,” he murmured against your cunt. 

That did it. You gasped as your climax hit you; Clint licked you through it, then he inserted and withdrew his fingers from you, then held them up to your mouth. You flicked over them with your tongue, tasting yourself. “Fuck...that’s so hot…” 

Still winded from your climax, you lay there boneless on the desk. Clint rolled you over onto you belly and pressed his chest against your back. 

“I can’t wait anymore—“ You whined, pushing your backside against his groin. 

“Oh you’re gonna get it, baby,” Clint growled in your ear. He reached back with one hand and undid his belt, allowing his pants to fall to the floor. 

You felt his erection against your ass, then as Clint brushed the head against your opening once, twice, then slide in. He let out a shuddering gasp. “...you feel amazing—” He placed his hands on the desk on either side of your waist and gently eased his length in and out, allowing you to get used to it. 

“Look—“ Clint commanded in a low voice. You happened to glance across the desk: there was a full length mirror.

In it, you saw yourself bent over the desk, shirt ripped open, skirt hiked to your waist, bra bent out of shape to expose your breasts and ecstasy plain on your face, as Clint leaned over you.

“You look so fuckin’ beautiful like this—“ He stood up then slammed his hips into yours. You cried out and he repeated the motion. “Gonna make you cum again—“ 

And then he set a brutal pace, gripping your bound wrists with one hand to steady you. “So tight and wet—“ 

You gasped when the he leaned over you and the angle changed. He wrapped a thick arm around your neck and whispered in your ear: “Are you okay with this?”

You nodded. “Yeah—nngh!” 

Clint flexed his arm, cutting off your breath momentarily, then leaned into you. You felt his abs against your still bound hands. “Scratch my stomach if this is too much.” 

You nodded again, motion limited by his arm around your neck. After planting a kiss on the side of your face, he removed his arm slowly, leaving his hand around your neck.

And Clint began to move into you. He gripped the other end of the desk to provide himself with leverage then began slamming his hips against yours. He squeezed his hand around your throat, putting slight pressure on your windpipe every time you breathed out. 

“God, yes—“ Vision hazy but craving more, you looked in the mirror to see Clint’s face. 

His eyes rolled back in ecstasy, his hips moving against you, his hand against your neck, it all started off a chain reaction. You felt the coil wrapping tighter and tighter, like the hand around your neck, and you began making needy noises. 

Clint gasped and groaned as your pussy began squeezing him and he pounded into you. “Oh I’m gonna let you cum, don’t worry—“ 

And the coil kept winding against itself until you thought you’d never cum. 

And then Clint let go of your throat. Everything went white as the air filled your lungs and your climax slammed into you with the force of a bullet train. You cried out hoarsely as it went on and on. With a hand to the center of your back, Clint stood up and thrust into you one final time with a gasp of your name then yanked himself out. You felt his seed land on your ass and he reached back and jerked himself some more to empty his sack across both butt cheeks. 

“—gah!” He doubled over you, breathing heavily, and fumbled to remove his tie from around your wrists. He rolled you onto your back and fell onto the desk besides you, haphazardly petting your hair. You both lay there on the desk, legs dangling off the edge, catching your breath. 

“You, uh, you wanna grab a coffee, maybe some food some time?” Clint asked after his breathing evened out.

You nodded. “I could eat.”


	3. “Come back to me”

Natasha stares down at Clint. He is completely at her mercy. He’s bound wrist and ankle to the bed in the brig. 

She doesn’t want to do this to him. Not like this, anyways; she’d prefer him in his right mind. 

But he _needs_ this to get _back_ to his right mind. To get the god out of Clint’s mind, she’d do anything. 

She double checks to make sure there’s nobody in the hallway, then bends over the restrained man, kissing his forehead, his nose and finally his mouth. He pulls away at first but then strains upward into the kiss. She throws a leg over his waist, then sits up on him. She shimmies backwards and straddles his thighs and grinds herself against them; he “hmm’s” half consciously and strains to bend the leg she’s riding. 

She slides to where his cock is straining against the crotch of his pants and she frees it. He’s big and Natasha wonders how she’s never before sampled this. She wraps her hand around and gently glides up and down, up and down. Clint lets out a semi-conscious gasp and bucks up into her hand; she allows him several strokes before removing her hand. He cries out for her—not by name, but a wordless sound—and the cry ends in a needy whine as he thrusts his pelvis up in an effort to find her hand. 

She takes him into her mouth and he lets out a low growl that, again, ends in a lustful noise. She swirls her tongue around the head and pokes it gently into the hole, then brings her mouth down around him. 

His eyes fly open and he lets out a strangled gasp. He battles against his restraints, trying to free himself. 

And Nat knows that right now, if he did manage to get out, everyone on that ship would be in danger. 

She somehow manages to fit him all the way into her mouth and throat, trying desperately not to gag as he thrusts up into her, moaning around him with each one. His eyes close against in ecstasy and he releases a feral hiss.

And Nat hopes that her sucking on him will suck the god right out. _Let go of him. Come back to me, darling._

He’s getting close, she discovers after a few moments of animalistic thrusting and grunting. She takes her mouth off of him and he emits a shuddered groan. 

Now or never, she decides. She rises off of him and takes off her suit, then straddles him once more. Holding him steady, she sinks down, down down on him until he’s fully sheathed in her warmth. 

Again, his eyes fly open. 

And this time they stay open. He lets out a breathy gasp and Nat recognizes it as her name. 

Even though she’s on top and he’s still cuffed to the bed, she allows him a modicum of control: she lets him control the speed at which they proceed. 

He chooses a slow and steady pace, fucking up into her to get used to her around him. 

“Come on, Clint, come back to us. Come back to me.” She begins to meet him, push for thrust and Clint’s head falls back against the bed. 

“That’s it, baby, fight it. Fight him—oh!” Her climax comes as a surprise and feels her soul leave her body momentarily. 

Clint freezes for a split second, then jackhammers ungracefully up into her, gasping raggedly, then groaning as he reaches his own finish. She has an implant, so she’s not worried about unexpected consequences. 

She’s more worried about if she was successful. 

And the look in his eyes shows that she is.


End file.
